Precarious
by Momo Cicerone
Summary: When they told him the Defense Against the Dark Arts post was a precarious position, he'd assumed they were talking about a different kind of danger. [Baccana] [Potterverse] [Oneshot]


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot.

**Rating:** T for mild sexually suggestive themes.

**Summary: **When they told him the Defense Against the Dark Arts post was a precarious position, he'd assumed they were talking about a different kind of danger. [Baccana] [Potterverse] [Oneshot]

**A/N: **So I decided to take requests for drabbles on tumblr and somebody asked for Potterverse! Baccana, so here you have it! Sorry I took forever on this request. I did a first version three weeks ago but it was totally OOC. Special thanks to muffindragon227 for helping me fix the plot and the lovely summary. 50% of this fic is yours.

**Word Count:** 1,674 (Yes, I got _**very**_ carried away)

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**Precarious**

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Bloody hell, this job was _jinxed_.

He'd heard the rumors, yes. It was no secret in the wizarding community that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor position was one that people would take only out of remarkable bravery or utmost desperation. And though his reputation was that of a reckless _—_arguably shameless_—_man, Bacchus Groh held no pride whatsoever in admitting that in this particular occasion, he was more qualified as the latter.

Broke and unceremoniously kicked out from the apartment he used to share with his longtime girlfriend, he applied for the infamous job as a last resort to get his messy life back together _—_he certainly needed the galleons, and the job, apart from providing accommodation, paid ridiculously well.

Although it would have made more sense for him, a former well-known Quidditch player from the legendary Quatro Cerberus Team (and the best chaser of the last century, fuck everything the _Daily Prophet _says) to take the Flying Lessons teacher position, there's hardly any other vacancy on the teaching jobs at Hogwarts unless for those open due to retirement or death, and he's got bills to pay that neither he nor his creditors can wait any longer for.

And even when having to deal with the teenager drama every single day for a whole year was definitely not in his wish list, he'll gladly take one for the money.

It wasn't that bad, really. There was an unspoken courtesy code between his colleagues that made things easier _—_he'd much rather keep that distant, impersonal relationship with them. He wasn't there to make friends or pursue a career, after all.

But frankly speaking, the biggest challenge of all was to put up with the herd of crazy fangirls who clung to him after classes and sneaked into his office with dubious purposes. Because yes, he might have a bit of a playboy history, but he'd certainly wouldn't appreciate getting evicted from the castle for engaging into some scandalous affair with an underage student.

No, that would totally ruin his plans of getting back on the field _—_he couldn't become a professional Quidditch coach if convicted to Azkaban for corruption of a minor.

_(God forbid._)

Besides, in his honest opinion, young girls were _way _overrated.

He was hardly a saint _—_if anything, he was a devil in disguise and pretty young girls should know better than to succumb to his charms, for he's known to have ruined the lives of one too many.

And he really was long over the shallow fascination for youngsters with a luscious body; they were rarely worth the hype, never worth the headache.

Pretty young girls were nothing but that: a constant, unnecessary headache.

_Speaking of the devil…_

He halted on his late night patrol when his thoughts were interrupted by a suspicious figure coming out of the fruit painting that connected the kitchen's door _—_a girl, it seemed.

She scanned the hallway nervously, and he knew by the red and gold scarf circled around her neck that she had no business wandering near Hufflepuff's basement after hours.

The wavy curls of brown framing her face bounced at his direction when she acknowledged his presence, big brown eyes widening in recognition as she cursed under her breath.

_Well, well, well_… but if it wasn't none other than_—_

"Miss Alberona," He called in an amused tone, "We meet again."

"Professor Groh," she greeted, feigning innocence as a small smile spread across her lips, "You are out late."

"Funny you say that," he raised his index, pointing upwards as he remarked, "I was going to say the exact same thing."

"I was just out from my chess club meeting." She lied blatantly, holding his gaze in what she thought would be a convincing expression.

_Chess club_, huh? He mentally laughed at her lack of imagination. Either she must think he was _very_ stupid or she was poorly endowed in the acting department.

"Oh, is that so?" He cocked a brow, unconvinced by her poor excuse. "I believe these hours are long past extracurricular activities, but I'm sure your head of house would_—_"

"No!" She interrupted him, a hint of panic clear in her voice. Clearing her throat at the realization of her mistake, she flashed him a charming smile and pleaded, "Please, there's no need to bother professor Porlyusica with such banalities."

"That, indeed." He agreed, stroking an imaginary goatee as if he were in deep thought. "Unless, of course, there are some more serious matters she must be informed about…" He suggested, eyeing with amusement at the hands she kept hidden under her robe. The clinking sound of glass didn't go unnoticed to his ears, "Like the bottles of alcohol I assume you just charmed out the house elves."

Her pretty brown eyes widen with surprise, mouth opening just slightly, "_How_ did you_—_"

"Oh, please," He let a deep, short laugh that for some reason made her stomach twist a little. "I've witness a fair amount of hang overs, but yours, Miss Alberona, are hardly discreet to the eye. And I certainly don't appreciate you passing out during my classes; you make teaching a difficult job when you are barely sober."

A crease formed between her brows, eyes narrowing into a squint.

"_You are one to talk_," She pointed out, her tone lower than a whisper. If she was going to be scolded at for drinking, she'd be damn if it came from someone who's questionable drinking habit was all over the tabloids. "…_professor._"

Bacchus blinked at her remark, the smile on his lips twisted into a sad smirk, "True, true…" he lamented, scratching his temple apologetically, "That's fair enough. I guess I'm not the most adequate person to lecture you about drinking. That said, I'm still your professor, and I'm afraid that I'll have to confiscate whatever you're hiding."

She scoffed at his declaration, losing all pretense of innocence, "Right, like you care about that," she said, lips twisting into a grimace, "You probably just want to keep it for yourself!"

He suddenly stepped towards her, and she staggered until her back was pressed against the wall, "Hey," he breathed, brows furrowed into a frown and hovering dangerously closer to her face, "That's no way to talk to a teacher."

A faint shade of pink rushed under her cheeks, and she wondered for a second if he could hear the mad drumming of her heart against her chest (whether it was due to his proximity or her earlier daring, she couldn't tell). Trying to hold on to what little pride remained, she held his gaze with a defiant glare, bracing herself tightly to hide the mild quivering that suddenly took over her body _—damn,_ he was making her nervous, and she wasn't sure it was just because he literally caught her red-handed or the fact that she could practically feel his warm breath against her skin.

He leaned a little closer, studying her face with genuine curiosity; glistening dark brown irises glaring back at him, eyebrows that knitted into a frown and cheeks tainted a rosy tone with lips pressed into a thin line, she made a most interesting picture _—_a mystery he was a little too tempted to unravel, despite his seemingly strong determination to remain unfazed.

But this girl…_ damn,_ this girl and her saucy attitude, he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't find her all kinds of alluring.

Oh, _Merlin's beard_, this job was _so_ jinxed.

"_Your hands_," He demanded in a serious tone, not caring to put some much needed distance between them. "Show them to me."

Eyes locked into his, she slowly took her hands out of her pockets and showed him her empty palms. A surprised gasp escaped her lips when he slid his hands inside her robe and pulled a bottle with dark orange liquid out of her left pocket.

"_Hey!_" She exclaimed indignantly, cheeks puffing into a most charming pout, "You have _no right—_"

"_Firewhiskey_, Miss Alberona?" He huffed incredulously, totally omitting her complain, "You have quite a liver, don't you, girl?"

"I do." She said wryly, nodding in reassurance as she crossed her arms under her breasts. "I also have quite a _Hook_, so I suggest you keep your hands to yourself if you like your face to stay the way it is, _professor_."

He took a step back, palms out as he kept the bottle grasped between his thumb and index. "Point taken." He laughed, to her utmost annoyance, "No personal contact allowed. Unless, of course, you are the one to initiate it first."

Her jaw dropped for a millisecond, but she was fast to recover, "What are you say_—_"

Seriously, either her mind was playing tricks on her, or there was something really off with this conversation.

"Nothing, nothing…"He said dismissively, chest rumbling with a deep low laugh that made her breathing just a little bit more difficult.

God, something was seriously wrong with her.

Straightening her back, she shove those thoughts away as she raised her chin with what little she could salvage of her dignity. "What now, are you going to turn me in?"

His eyes flickered on her face in an evaluating manner, a lazy smile spreading across his lips. _Gryffindors_ _—_he could smell them by the mile. "Lucky you, I'm not a snitch." He shrugged before adding, "But you _will _get detention. Tomorrow at my office, 7 o'clock."

Her face fell as she groaned a protest, "You_ can't_ be serious! c_ome on_…"

But he was already walking away from her, heading for the staircase with his eyes busily studying the bottle on his hands and a look of approval on his face, "I'm dead serious. Besides…" He turned to look at her over his shoulder, raising the firewhiskey for her to see, "You don't expect me to finish this all by myself, do you?"

He smiled at her perplexed expression, only one thought in mind.

This job, was _most definitely_ jinxed.

But he'd gladly take the risk.

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_**Fin**_


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